Thea's grin wasn't brave. It was dangerous.
Igor knew that look. It was the same one she wore when they once cut through a flooded subway tunnel just to prove it wasn't that deep. (It was.)
"We're not playing their game," she said. "We're rewriting it."
Igor panted, watching another of their duplicates writhe in static as it melted into smoke. "Rewrite faster. These things don't run out."
Thea slammed the black book shut. "The altar. It said the exit's behind it — but only for the one who chooses to leave first."
"Right. So unless one of us selfishly bolts, we're stuck."
"Exactly. So we fake it."
Igor blinked. "Explain your evil plan, dark genius."
Thea stepped toward the altar — that gaudy, old-fashioned centerpiece looming under candlelight. Her voice dropped.
"We stage a 'betrayal.' I say I'm leaving. You make a scene. We sell it. Then… we see what happens."
"Ah. Classic fake betrayal to bypass existential morality test. Why didn't I major in that?"
They moved quickly.
The doppelgängers hesitated now — as if unsure whether to strike or watch. Their faces were slack. Waiting. Processing.
Like broken AIs stuck in a cutscene.
Thea mounted the altar steps.
"I'm leaving," she said coldly, letting the echo bounce.
Igor shook his head, voice sharp. "Figures. First chance you get, you run."
"Oh, don't give me the noble act. You'd have done it if you were faster."
The copies twitched. Their mouths opened, mimicking the argument like a play they'd already seen. One of them tried to say, "I'm leaving," but stuttered on the phrase like a skipped CD.
Good.
"You're not who I thought you were," Igor said, his voice full of venom.
"And you're exactly who I thought you were," Thea shot back, with a cutting smile.
The church shivered.
Literally. A quake trembled through the structure. Candles flickered blue.
And then—click.
The altar cracked open like a stone jaw.
Behind it: a door. No ornate carvings. No cryptic quotes.
Just a plain, glowing sign:
EXIT
Igor's heart pounded. "That was… too easy."
Thea raised an eyebrow. "We've had different definitions of 'easy' since high school."
The doppelgängers began to glitch again, limbs snapping at wrong angles. Their faces fuzzed, became copies of each other, then… blank.
The test was ending.
But the door pulsed.
Like it was waiting.
"I'll go," Thea said softly. "We're not supposed to both pass. If the system's still watching, maybe it'll think I took the deal."
Igor stepped forward. "Or maybe it wants you to."
That hung there a beat too long.
"…Trust is our only light," Thea quoted, just barely audible.
They locked eyes.
Then she stepped through.
The Next Room: The Watchtower
Igor didn't know how long he stood there.
Long enough for the doppelgängers to dissolve into smoke. For the candles to snuff out. For the whole room to reset — pristine and empty, as if none of it happened.
He waited for the trapdoor. The punishment. The twist.
But it never came.
Until he heard the voice.
"Participant 102B: Igor Zelinsky. Remaining."
It was a voice he hadn't heard since he was ten.
His mother's.
Only it wasn't.
It was too calm. Robotic. Like an AI trying to simulate affection it had never felt.
"You didn't leave. That was noted."
"Your loyalty percentage remains above 90%."
He shivered.
A spotlight beamed down from the ceiling, illuminating the altar.
"Please proceed to The Watchtower. Your partner's choices are being evaluated."
Igor's jaw clenched. "Evaluated how?"
"Emotion. Morality. Response under betrayal stress. Deception index. Dream distortion reaction."
His fists curled.
"And you?"
A pause.
Then the voice replied itself.
"Observed. For deviation."
A panel opened in the wall.
A staircase down. Always down.
Igor followed.
Elsewhere: Thea's Test
The exit wasn't an exit.
Of course it wasn't.
It led to a room like an airport lounge merged with a brain scan facility.
Monitors covered every wall. Each screen played scenes from her life — but wrong.
One showed her in high school, standing up for Igor… only she didn't. In the footage, she turned away.
Another showed her accepting a prize. She'd never won it.
These were her possible selves.
And in the center of the room: a table with two buttons.
One red.
One green.
The screen above them flickered on.
A face.
But it wasn't a person.
It was a 3D model, subtly shifting — built from fragments of people she trusted. Her father's eyes. Her therapist's voice. Her old teacher's calm tone.
"Hello, Thea."
"This is the real test."
"Press red, and you leave. Alone. Memory wiped. You get a clean life. A high-level job in one of our real facilities. You'll be safe."
"Press green, and you go back in. But we can't guarantee he's still him."
Thea didn't move.
The voice continued.
"We alter people who stay too long. The human mind adapts. But not always in… stable ways."
A beat.
"We think your Igor has already started to change."
Another beat.
"But it's your call."
She stared at the buttons.
Her hand hovered.
She thought of Igor's face in the moment before she stepped through.
Not angry.
Trusting.
She slammed her hand down.
Green.
Convergence
Igor stepped into the Watchtower and froze.
It looked like a cross between an observation deck and a surveillance HQ.
Dozens of screens — all watching them.
Him. Thea. Together. Apart. In zones they hadn't even reached yet.
On one screen, he saw her slamming her hand onto something.
A message flashed across the screen:
Subject 102A: RETURNING
And then — the wall behind him opened.
Thea stepped in.
Breathless. Pale.
But smiling.
"You didn't leave," she said.
He nodded. "Neither did you."
No hug.
No tears.
Just the kind of silence that only comes from knowing the worst might still be ahead — but you're not facing it alone.
Then the room spoke again.
"Final phase unlocked. Begin Trial: THE MAZE THAT REMEMBERS."
The walls shimmered.
And the Watchtower collapsed into darkness.